


Trust Me, Trust Me, Honey Do. (Just Like I Trust You).

by InkgooSupernova



Series: The Winter System [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baking, Bucky has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Short One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trust Issues, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkgooSupernova/pseuds/InkgooSupernova
Summary: "Do we evenhavenutmeg? When was the last time any of us boughtnutmeg?" The Captain huffed from the cabinets, shuffling and sorting a variety of glass jars and plastic bottles. "Y'know what? T'hell with it, we'll use cinnamon."That made the Soldier's hair stand on end.The Soldier had a deep-rooted, primalneedto follow orders. To not fail. Toobey. He could not fail. Weapons do not-That was why they were doing this. They had to show the Soldier that it'sokayto not follow instructions, to fail and learn from it in a healthy way.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: The Winter System [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693231
Comments: 11
Kudos: 144





	Trust Me, Trust Me, Honey Do. (Just Like I Trust You).

**Author's Note:**

> Like some of the other stories in this list, this one is based loosely on personal experiences.
> 
> This story has mentions of bodily functions that, while meant to be humorous, may be considered gross or disturbing to some. Reader discretion is advised. Check End Notes for further details.
> 
> The title is a line from the song "The Scorpion and The Frog/Trust Me" from 'The Devil's Carnival'.

"Four cups of peaches..." The Soldier glared at the little piece of paper in front of him. "...Do we have enough for four cups?"

"We're gonna find out." The Falcon hummed, which made the Soldier's heart flutter.

"Do we even _have_ nutmeg? When was the last time any of us bought _nutmeg_?" The Captain huffed from the cabinets, shuffling and sorting a variety of glass jars and plastic bottles. "Y'know what? T'hell with it, we'll use cinnamon."

That made the Soldier's hair stand on end.

The Soldier had a deep-rooted, primal _need_ to follow orders. To not fail. To _obey_. He could not fail. Weapons do not-

That was why they were doing this. They had to show the Soldier that it's _okay_ to not follow instructions, to fail and learn from it in a healthy way.

Yesterday, there was a farm that had 'pick-your-own' peaches. Bucky _loved_ peaches. The man who died so very long ago used to spend his breaks from working on the docks out in a nearby orchard, sneaking ripe, fresh peaches to snack on and bring home to Steve.

So Steve, Sam, and Bucky decided to drive out to the farm and pick some fresh peaches. Jamesy decided _he_ should be the one to do it, so Jamesy, Daddy, and Uncle Sam spent a few good hours getting sun-burnt and gathering the few peaches they could find. There were so many people out there as well, they could barely find any ripe ones. However, Jamesy had fun running circles around his parental figures, so the three pounds of peaches were worth it.

So they decided to bake a pie with the few peaches they gathered. The Soldier always loved cooking and baking.

But they never made a pie. Not once.

_"I've seen your Ma bake pies more times than I can count," Steve hummed as they all gathered the needed ingredients and bowls. "How hard could it possibly be?"_

As it turned out, it was not as easy as they thought.

For starters, whoever online said that the easiest way to peel peaches was to boil them after cutting an 'X' in the bottom of them was a liar. The Soldier spent almost thirty minutes trying to pick off the skin before finally, out of frustration, flaying the poor produce with a potato peeler.

And now, according to the Captain, they had no nutmeg.

"I'm sure cinnamon or something will work fine, right?" The Captain held up a small jar of auburn powder labelled 'cinnamon'. "That'd probably taste better than nutmeg anyways."

The Soldier's skin prickled.

"The recipe says _nutmeg_ , not _cinnamon_." The Soldier argued, poking a flesh digit against the paper for emphasis. The paper very clearly said 'nutmeg'. The Soldier was not Jamesy or Winnie, he could read. He could read just _fine_ , thank you very much.

"Don't worry, Bu-Big guy," The Soldier caught the Captain's mistake in names, but chose not to draw attention to it. "I'm sure it'll be just as good."

"Wanna help me cut these up?" The Falcon offered, and the Captain visibly tensed.

This exercise was also meant to make the Captain more comfortable with letting the Soldier do dangerous things, such as cutting food or working with hot things.

The Falcon knew that, as long as he had someone nearby to spot him just in case they suddenly forgot what they were doing or one of the little ones switched out, the Soldier was a pretty decent cook. On top of that, the Soldier _enjoyed_ cooking. Using knives and boiling water and his own hands to _create_ things that the others around him enjoyed too brought him joy. Some of their best nights together when the Captain was out on missions were the nights where they cooked together, dancing around the kitchen together like a team on the battlefield, before slinking off to the bedroom together to do other, _slightly hotter_ activities.

"Uh, Sam..." The Captain started, but the last thing he wanted to do was make the Soldier think he didn't trust him. That would destroy so much trust that they had spent _years_ building up. Gaining back.

"Steve." The Falcon challenged him, standing up for the Soldier's dignity as he handed him a knife.

The Soldier began slicing the peeled, slippery peaches. He could _feel_ the tension in the Captain's energy, watching him like a hawk.

"Steve," The Falcon caught his attention. "Why don't you keep looking for the rest of the ingredients? We've got this." The Soldier could tell in the other's stern voice that the Captain had no choice.

"...Alright." The Captain's jaw popped loud enough for the Soldier to hear, and he was suddenly filled with dread. He was _disobeying_ the Captain. He let his skilled hands cease the slicing, freezing in front of the half-finished plate of chopped peaches.

"Soldier, y'alright?" The Falcon was standing close to him, like a sturdy rock to lean on, but not close enough for him to feel cornered or trapped.

The Soldier could only look up to him, locking their eyes for only a moment, before training them to the other's chest.

"Captain's 'mother hen'ing give'ya performance anxiety?" The Falcon's voice was warm and humorous, and that made the Soldier feel a little better. He could hear the Captain's huff of breath, and the anxiety doubled in his guts.

"Hey, Steve, can I talk to you for a sec?" The Falcon got the Captain's attention, and the two walked down the hallway to discuss outside of the Soldier's hearing range. Technically, he could make out what they were saying if he wanted, but they obviously wanted privacy, and he didn't feel like listening to the Falcon chewing out the Captain for his non-trusting behavior. Since there was no one to spot him while cutting fruit or working the stove, he decided to busy himself by gathering the rest of the ingredients. He was still caught up on that nutmeg.

After a few minutes, the Falcon and the Captain returned, and the Captain made his way to the Soldier.

"Hey, Big guy," The Captain began, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I'm sorry if I made you feel bad about cutting the peaches, I still get a little nervous when you use knives."

The Soldier couldn't help the way his face fell, and the Captain's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

"Oh no-no no I- I didn't mean it like _that_ Soldier, I just- I-" The Captain looked at the Falcon, desperate for backup from his own error.

"He doesn't think you'll hurt yourself or anyone else on _purpose_ ," The Falcon began, earning the Soldier's attention once again. "He just doesn't want you to hurt yourself on _accident_. But he knows that you're careful too, and that you won't do anything dangerous without someone nearby to help." The Falcon gestured to the peaches that were left uncut since they had stopped. "See? If you can trust him to not do it alone, you _have_ to be able to trust him to be careful when he _isn't_ alone."

The Captain sighed deep, tucking his head. The Soldier felt like his insides were twisted into a trillion knots.

"Yeah, I do, I _do_ trust you. I just always want to keep you safe." The Captain looked back to him, catching his eyes for just a moment, knowing their discomfort. "You get back to cutting those, I'm gonna find the rest of what we need."

"Already did." The Soldier pointed to the collection of jars and cans next to him. Not a single one was nutmeg, but he would make do. A good tactician always knew how think outside the box in order to complete their mission.

The Captain smiled, and that made the Soldier's heart skip a beat. Always have, always will.

It had been all of an hour by the time they finally had the filling done- an amalgamation of chopped peaches, brown sugar, cinnamon, lemon juice, vanilla, and honey- and poured into a pie crust. The Soldier would not take his eyes off the unfinished baked-good, a sneer carved into his features.

"You alright, Soldier?" The Captain looked at the open pie from over his shoulder.

"...It looks like when I get diarrhea." The Soldier stated, glaring at what he now saw as the worst mistake in his career. The Captain groaned in distaste as the Falcon nearly choked on his own throat laughing.

"Oh my god it does _not_!" The Captain tried to make him feel better, but it was not working. It did _too_ look like it.

"Oh that is _vile_! Why would you _say that_?!" The Falcon had to brace himself against the counter, clutching his midriff as he gulped down labored breaths. "I'm not even gonna be able to _eat it now man_!" His voice was barely a squeak by the end of his sentence, choking hard on the laughter.

'Soldier you're such a dick!' Bucky's voice was laughing in their skull, and the Soldier couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat.

That chuckle soon evolved into full-blown _cackling_ , rivaling even the Falcon's own laugh. That felt _good_.

After the group had finally calmed down, the Soldier covered the filled pie with the second pie crust, crimping the edges with a fork, cutting small holes into the top, and brushing a butter-brown sugar-cinnamon glaze across the crust before shoving the pastry into the oven.

In order to pass the time, the group spent the forty minutes of waiting just cuddling on the couch, watching whatever baseball game was on the television at the time. The Soldier paid no attention to the game, instead focusing on the warmth and comfort of the two men pressed against him. He didn't feel trapped, he felt _protected_.

After the forty minutes were up, the Soldier gathered the pie- which had leaked onto the tray it was placed on- from the oven and placed it on the counter to cool. He had to admit, it no longer looked like something he would find in a seedy back alley behind a dumpster, which made him feel better. The crust looked flaky and crispy from the glaze, and it truly did _smell_ good, so hopefully it would taste as good as it smelled, and not as bad as the insides _looked_.

The group sat at the table, each with a plate of pie in front of them.

"Cheers!" The Falcon cut a piece of his slice with his fork and lifted it in a mock toast, before all of them lifted the bites into their mouths.

...

...

...

"...It's not _horrible_." The Soldier mumbled, at least glad that it didn't taste _entirely_ like shit.

"I think it's good." The Captain shrugged, unsure as to what else he could say about it.

"Hey, at least we tried something new. That's the important part." The Falcon smiled, and both the Soldier and the Captain could not help but smile back. The Falcon's smile was _always_ contagious.

After sharing their opinions, the group finished their plates, crowded back into the kitchen, and began working together to clean up the mess they had made together. The Soldier could not be any happier than he was in that very moment, the feeling of _home_ a glowing light in his bones.

Next time, they'll try adding nutmeg.

**Author's Note:**

> **Initial Warning:**
> 
> Towards the end of the story, the Soldier states that the pie filling looks like diarrhea.
> 
> This is directly based on an interaction within our own system earlier today where we, too, were making a real peach pie and our Soldier, whom this series is directly based on, stated the exact same thing word for word. This is meant to be humorous. Soldier thinks he's funny.
> 
> **Brief Explanations:**
> 
> This story focuses little on the Winter System's experience with DID, and instead focuses on their relationship with Steve and Sam. Both of them love Bucky and the rest of their system equally in their own ways. Because of this, Steve has difficulties letting Bucky or anyone in their system do things that he believes to be dangerous, such as using knives or working with fire. While the Soldier has the mental capacity of an adult and is capable of handling such things, they do understand his reasoning, as there always is inherent danger with cooking.
> 
> Sam works as a sort of moderator in this story, making sure both Steve and the Soldier's feelings are understood by one another. In the end, the three get to have some pretty okay pie. The important part was that they all made it together with _love_. Aww.


End file.
